April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of
poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their
literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of
April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.
J. Eric Laing
J. Eric Laing was born and raised in the South but now lives
in New York City with his wife and their two wonderful boys.
He is the author of five novels: Cicada (general fiction), Seep (horror),
The Night Watch (thriller), Scissors & Tweed (young adult), and The Crooked Man's Mile (general fiction), as well as a collection of short stories simply
titled Shorts.
Mother’s Eve
Smelling like minnows, Dungarees hang on little limbs
Muddy head to tooth,
Breathing honey breath
Because, young, they can.
Still plump with their moment,
Woman plays behind
Naked prints leading to the tub
In a path of love and giggles.
She seeks, cherubs hide.
And when found out,
All three chocolates dipped.
Held by the heel and healed.
Licked until shiny,
Clean as the mantle clock,
The babes soon sleep tight as clams.
Father Fishing
Both mechanisms creaking,
Reel and bones,
My old man of the river and sea
Forever shines above my dumb hook.
Dried Sparrows
Where have the winter children gone?
Their laughter withered with spring,
Thawed damp on dry lips.
When will the crisp air drown again?
So much like flies stuck in honey,
Sweet deep breaths at last.
Old enough to never have been,
Each to each nothing ever gives.
Not a parting kiss, nor embrace of wit.
The years now we’ll stack neatly,
Corners creased and folded over,
Like so many boxes of dried sparrows.
When the Circus Came to Town
How oddly every child smiled
When the high-wire broke and the funny fat clown
Tumbled and tumbled down.
For, rushing to his demise,
His lips twisted up for the night’s first time
As he broke both neck and frown.
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